


Goosebumps

by FrozenHearts



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Could be described as a one-shot too, Does this even count as a drabble?, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenHearts/pseuds/FrozenHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All you wanted was to buy you and your son Halloween costumes after seeing that new Goosebumps movie and then go home. You didn't expect your son to be the (best) cutest wingman out there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goosebumps

**Author's Note:**

> So this was requested by the lovely user dicksilver on Tumblr!  
> I know this may not be exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless, as it was super-fun to write!
> 
> (I've also never written in second-person before, so let me know if I managed to do so properly!)
> 
> And I went on Halloween with my friends to see the new Goosebumps movie with Jack Black in it, and it was really good, so that kind of inspired this fic a little bit whilst writing it out. I do recommend the movie though, it was great to watch and had lots of jokes!

Halloween was the worst. All the candy, all the costumes. The kids toting around children and the children toting around cavities in a bucket. You decided that you hated Halloween. No ifs, ands, or buts.

 

But your son? Boy, did he _love_ Halloween. He even dragged you to the store in order to buy a costume. So you went, thinking he would just by a dinosaur costume or even Scooby-Doo. Heaven knows the kid watched that cartoon enough times to memorize an episode word for word. You smirked as he pulled you into the store.

 

“Mommy! Lookit!” he shouted with glee, wildly pointing at everything. The store had orange and black decorations hanging everywhere, with paper pumpkins and witch hats taped haphazardly to the walls. Pictures of thin models in skimpy costumes lined the walls and it made you wonder why anyone would basically pay half their salary for a thin strip of cloth they would wear for one night a year. You found yourself debating on whether or not you should purchase a costume for yourself. Immediately blushing, you turned your attention back to your son; no doubt you’d spend at least two hours fighting over what costume he’d want to wear.

 

He was standing in front of a row of costumes, obviously modeled after the Avengers. Eyes glazing over the selection, you couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would want to walk around in a bulky metal Iron Man suit, or paint themselves green only for it to wash away with sweat later on. A decent looking Black Widow costume caught your eye. You tugged at the ends of your hair- would you look good as a redhead? 

“-and then he was like  _ whoosh! _ ” your son was talking animatedly about a movie you had recently seen. The new Goosebumps movie, based on the books. At first, you didn’t want to see it, but it turned out you enjoyed it a good amount. Jack Black definitely should have let up on the accent though.

 

“Pietro, come on, buddy!” You try to keep yourself from groaning, “If you want a costume you gotta pick one!”

But your son wouldn’t have it. He kept going. Apparently his favorite part of the film was that stupid ventriloquist dummy, Slappy. In the books, he was the creepiest villain out of all the characters- the movie of course was no different. So he kept taking, and you chuckled to yourself, watching as he gesticulated wildly.

And then you froze at the words that were in a voice that definitely _didn’t belong to your son_.

“Did you enjoy the movie?”

Quirking your brow, you turned to find your son discussing the movie with a complete stranger.

And here you were, thinking he was talking to you.

The man in question was crouching down so he was eye-level with your son, and you really could only see the shock of white hair on his head. It was shaggy, but not too long that it looked greasy. You could see black underneath, so you figured he must have dyed it or something- it was becoming a new trend, you noticed. His long fingers seemed to flit across the materials of his sleeves, picking at stray strands of the blue fibers. Blue eyes were bright under the flourescent lights of the store, and his lips had a sort of lilt when he smiled, showing off two rows of perfect pearly whites.

“Uh-Huh! That movie was the  _ greatest ! _ ” you heard your son exclaim, taking you out of our trance. In your assessment of the stranger, you didn’t realize he was smiling up at you, his grin having gotten wider.

“I bet it was, little one,” he stood up, ruffling your son’s hair. His accent was strange, you pondered for a minute. It wasn’t Russian, but it wasn’t Ukrainian either. So where was he from?

“Y’ know, my name is Pietro too!” your son piped up, picking up his chin with pride. It was cute, seeing him so confident.

“Really?” the man countered, reciprocating excitement. Your son nodded, saying, “Yup! Just like the superhero! Quicky Silver!”

  Immediately, your eyes scanned the rack of costumes, an idea immediately popping into your head. 

“Mister, you look like him too! Mommy! Doesn’t he look like him?!” You felt your face heat up with embarrassment as the man turned to look at you, but you had to agree. The resemblance was striking, almost uncanny, really.

“Well, maybe we can both be him for Halloween, how does that sound?” the man asked softly with his enticing accent, and suddenly, you wanted in on the idea. All three of you would be Quicksilver for Halloween. After a beat, you mentally chided yourself. You had just met this man!

“Awesome!” your son exclaimed, giggling with delight as the man stood up. Putting out a hand, he said, “I apologize for keeping you. Please, what is your name?” You gave it to him, surprised at the firmness of his grip as you shook his hand.

“Pretty name for a pretty woman,” he winked, and you smiled.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t catch yours?” you replied, running a hand awkwardly through your hair.

“Right, right.” he nodded, “Pietro. Pietro Maximoff.” You nodded. It was nice to hear, his accent rolling his letters somewhat. You felt that someone should record him saying his name, just so you could put it on your ipod and play it on repeat over and over. Your son caught his attention and he turned to him, nodding enthusiastically at whatever it was he was saying.

A tap on your shoulder made you jump. You turned to find yourself staring back at a young woman. Long brown hair framed a pretty face, and she wore a red leather jacket over a black dress.

“I apologize for my brother’s behavior,” she said, voice tinged with obvious annoyance as she glared at him, “He has a tendency to run off.”

“This is my sister, Wanda,” Pietro abruptly changed the subject, and his sister-  Wanda , you filed the name away in your thoughts- rolled her eyes, leather pulling at her shoulders as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“And Director will have your head if you’re late again,” she growled with slightly broken English. It still bothered you that you couldn’t place their accents.

“Like you said earlier, little sis,” Pietro laughed, “I have a tendency to _run off_.”

“Very funny, Pietro,” Wanda chastised, “Now let’s go.” She gave you a quick smile before turning on her heel and exiting the aisle. Pietro stood awkwardly for a few minutes, shrugging off the awkward mood.

“I apologize for Wanda’s stinginess,” he chuckled, and you shook your head. Your son had gone back to the costume rack, little fingers trying to reach for one of the bags. Glancing at it, you smiled. It was a Quicksilver costume, the only one left in stock, it seemed.

“Here you go, hon,” you pulled it off the rack and handed it to him.

“Cute kid,” Pietro commented.

“Thanks,” you said, “Sorry about earlier, by the way. He has a tendency to talk people’s ears off.” 

There was a pregnant pause as you both stood there. You half-expected Wanda to reappear from one of the aisles and drag him out of the store by the ear.

“It is alright,” Pietro nodded, “I just think it’s very funny, we have the same name.” Again, you nodded. Because that’s what it was. Funny. A sigh, and he added, “But Wanda is correct. Director will have my head if I am late once more.”

“Right,” you grinned, casting your eyes down, “I shouldn’t be keeping you then.” You dug around your bag for your phone, content with the small weight in your hand. You were one of those people, you realized, that needed the phone at all times. It was like a security blanket and you didn’t even realize until now. Pietro eyed the device and before you could say anything he snatched it from you, fingers typing at a mile a minute. For a second, you thought you could see wisps of blue and silver coming from his skin, but with a blink, it was gone, and he was handing the phone back to you.

“Call me, yes?” he raised an eyebrow at you, and with a wink, he was gone.

In a flash.

You stood there for a minute, absolutely dumbstruck. He was so fast, he may well rival Usaine Bolt. And Usaine Bolt was an Olympic Gold Medalist. Blinking, you scrolled through the contacts on your phone, all the color draining from your face.

The number he had listed on your phone was under the letter ‘Q’. 

Quicksilver.

You had to laugh a little, as he had put his real name next to it in parenthesis. You felt a short yank on the hem of your dress, and found your son looking up at you expectantly. His brown eyes were wide with awe.

“Mommy, be Scarlet Witch!” he demanded, “ _ Pleaaaaaassse _ ?” Laughing, you nodded, ruffling his hair. Hands poised over the costume rack once more, you selected a Scarlet Witch costume that you hoped would fit (you didn’t really have time to actually try the thing on), and your son grabbed your hand with his sticky fingers, pulling you towards the cash registers. 

In the parking lot, once your son was buckled into the backseat and playing with his action figures (ironically of Iron Man and Captain America), you sat for a minute behind the wheel, contemplating whether you should call Pietro later or not. He seemed nice enough, and Wanda didn’t seem too bad herself, although she did act a bit more distant. Over time, you supposed, she would get used to people. 

Revving the engine you tossed the thought to the back of your mind, distracting yourself with the nice breeze coming through the open window, singing along with your son to some song off the newest Kidz Bop album (which you always hated, but you weren’t going to tell the boy that any time soon.)

As you drove around the corner, you swore you saw a flash of blue and silver, momentarily interrupted by a wink and a wave at the passenger window of the car. As soon as Pietro had come, he was gone.

You promised yourself you would start jogging the day after Halloween, humming along to the cd as your son made explosion sounds in the backseat with his toys.


End file.
